The Chase and the Catch

Chapter 2-2

“Is William not joining us?” The table had already been set when they’d sat down, not only with the requisite silver and china, but with steaming platter of sliced beef, glazed carrots, and roasted potatoes. It was, however, only set for two.

Parker seemed more amused by John’s question than John imagined he should have been. “William? You two are on a first-name basis already? How interesting.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” He accepted the platter that Parker handed him. “I prefer it. We are peers, after all. I don’t have any misconceptions on my own importance.”

“And yet you call me Mr. Chase.”

John cast a glance around the table for a good spot to reseat the platter, avoiding Parker’s eyes. “Yes.”

“I see.” The scratch of Parker’s chair over hardwood made John wince. “I’m sorry,” John said quickly. “I didn’t mean that to sound offensive. If it did. I don’t know. I just—”

“Anson!” Parker’s shout carried down the hallway. “Anson, I need you.”

The way that footsteps hurried over the flooring should have been comical. It wasn’t. On the contrary, the sound made John feel almost nauseous, for reasons he couldn’t have explained if he’d tried. The concern on William’s face when he appeared made the sentiment that much worse. “Sir? Is there something wrong?”

“Yes.” Parker stepped aside and nodded for William to enter the dining room. “My guest is bothered by the fact that you are not dining with us. Apparently excluding you is pretentious on my part. My apologies, Anson.” He paused, eyed William up and down. “Or perhaps, I should be using your first name as well, William.”

William flashed John a look that couldn’t be described as anything other than ‘what-the-f**k’ and John shrank back against his chair. “Please, remove your apron and join us.” Parker stepped smartly through the room and pulled out a vacant chair to the right of John. “We’ll need another place setting.”

“Sir,” William laughed; a dry, almost frightened sound. “I thank you for your generous suggestion, but that won’t be necessary.”

Parker didn’t move from his post behind the withdrawn chair. “Well, of course it’s not necessary. Nor is it a suggestion. We’ll wait.” The mortification and dread pasted on William’s face made the man look even older than his current state of ancient. The covert snarl he tossed John over his shoulder as he left the room, made John want to wither into the floor and disappear.

John took a deep breath and locked up eyes with Parker. “I wasn’t insinuating that you were being pretentious. Only that I would feel odd—”

“Because you believe you’re better than I am.”

“That’s ridiculous!” John rose from his chair in a panic. He was f*****g s**t up. Big time. Somehow. Him and his mouth. Like usual. “I swear to God that’s not what I meant. If anything, I meant that I think you’re above both of us. You have everything. You are everything: popular, attractive, intelligent. I don’t put myself on your level—”

“Do you smoke, Liege?” The question caught John off guard. “No? And please, just John.”

“Well, just John, perhaps you should.” William appeared at the doorway and Parker stepped back from the chair, waving William in. “Then, whenever you want to say something, you can light a cigarette, suck on it for a few minutes, and decide if the words you’re about to let roll off your tongue are what you actually want to say.”

John gritted his teeth and sat back down. “It’s not your fault,” Parker said, rounding the table and reseating himself. “Writers tend to talk with their fingers. They forget how to talk with their mouths.” He shook out his napkin, set it on his lap, and circled a ‘let’s go’ finger at William. “Eat.” He nodded at John. “You too.”

An awkward silence settled over the dining room, cut only by the sound of silverware against plates. “Anson—” Parker caught himself with a smile. “William. Did you know that John is a romance writer?”

William nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir. I looked him up. When you said…when I found out he was coming to stay with us.”

“Have you read any of his work?”

“No,” William admitted, eyeing John. “I regret to say that I have not.”

Parker swallowed, wiped his face, and looked up to catch John’s eye. “Shame. He has a series that I quite enjoyed.”

“Thank you,” John said, breaking their eye contact by giving an undue amount of interest to his plate. “I assume you mean the Heaven Series? It’s my most popular.”

“No. I find that quite repulsive to be honest.”

The wince John gave was meant to be feigned, but he didn’t have to try too hard to pull it off. “Ouch.”

“Far too sweet. Sickly, even. Not that I’m a fan of happily-ever-after or true-love-always at the best of times, as I’m sure we all know.” Parker reached out and caught the handle of a basket that sat in the middle of the table. “Bread?”

John shook his head. “I’m glad you brought that up. It really does beg an answer to the question of ‘why me?’“ From the corner of his eye, John saw William’s head shoot up. Well, you asked, John’s returning glance told him. He turned his attention back to Parker. “We obviously have opposing beliefs on a lot of things. What can I possibly have to offer you?”

“Other than kicks and giggles?” Parker slipped his knife through a slab of butter and cautiously layered a miniscule amount on his roll. “There’s a story here, Liege. A good one. One that needs a writer with a romantic predisposition. You’ll see.”

“Do tell.” Parker took a bite and grinned around his chews. “Oh, no. Where would the fun be in that?”

“This isn’t a game—”

“On the contrary.” Parker dropped the rest of the roll on to his plate and brushed his hands clean of crumbs. “That’s exactly what this is. And we won’t really know how it’s going to end until we get there. See, John,” he tilted his head and gave John a brilliant silver-screen worthy smile, “I’m not even really sure this story is going to be about me.”

John frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re not supposed to.”

John frowned at William and passed along his silent kudos at William’s take on Parker’s mindset. You were right, John did his best to convey through eye-speak.

Of course, William’s expression and eyebrow tick told him.

Parker’s eyes travelled between both of them and his expression made John’s jaw tighten with irritation. Parker was more than amused. He was gloating. John’s tongue got the best of him as his irritation grew to annoyance. “So those sniping little comments that disappear minutes after they’re posted about you being a prick are true then?”

Parker shrugged. “Probably. But why do you think so?”

“Only a prick plays mind games.”

William choked. Parker tee-peed his fingers under his chin and leaned his elbows on the table. John merely glared.

“This is not a mind game,” Parker corrected. “More a battle of wills.”

“You know, Parker, you sound as if you are a very cold man,” John said quietly. “And that’s a damn shame considering so many of your fans look up to you as a love interest.”

Parker laughed. “My fans want me to f**k them. Not love them.”

John shook his head and dropped his fork. “No. They’re not interested in this biography because they want to hear about your s****l indulgences. They want to know about you. About your story. They want to believe that there’s a man underneath the slick veneer that has a heart of gold and the soul of a kitten. They want you to be husband-worthy, with plans for a dozen kids and four dogs. It’s not about your c**k, it’s about your heart.”

“We’ll see.” Parker turned his attention to William, and William’s eyes widened in response. “You’re so quiet, William. Why don’t you tell us about your day?”

“Sir, I…” William’s face swivelled between both of them so regularly that he could have been at a tennis match. “I’m not sure what to say…”

John picked his fork back up and speared a potato. “Good. Because I’m not done talking.”

William’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened even further. And wasn’t that just too f*****g bad, John thought. Parker could be as much of a control freak as he wanted—as long as he didn’t dare to think, even for a single second, that he could use that control to put John in a place of subservience. “I was brought out here to tell your story for you—”

“A story, John.” Parker picked up his napkin. “You were brought out here to tell a story for me.”

John ignored the interruption. “That doesn’t make you my boss. You don’t shut me down when I’m asking you questions because you’ve decided the conversation is over. You’ve given me access to your life, so that I can do what I need to do, because this is something that you’ve said you want done. Be careful how you play games with me, Parker. I fight dirty when I’m cornered.”

“Yes,” Parker said slowly. “I was hoping you would.” He lifted both eyebrows and nodded. “Game on then?”

For several minutes the only sound in the room belonged to a tall grandfather clock in the corner. And why it seemed that sound was going to drive John nuts, he couldn’t say. Rather than regulate his heart, or calm the gathered tension, the silent, steady clack seemed to have the opposite effect, accelerating John’s heartbeat and breath, the noise seeming to increase with each click. Something in John’s mind began to whisper that Jenna was right, that he didn’t need this kind of stress right now. Yet the moment John recognized the thought for what it was, he shut it down. f**k that. No more second guessing. This was his opportunity to get back into life. He’d make this work if it f*****g killed him.

“So,” John finally said around a dry swallow, “Do either of you know anything about hockey?”